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There’s no way it’s going to happen between Envy and Sorrow, not in a thousand years, much less in a blink. Their peers are phenomenal in that respect. But otherwise, no deity would fall in love in only a few days.

Envy straightens a crease in his sleep pants. “On second thought, we may not know what it’s like being moonstruck, but we’ve witnessed it enough to know the warning signs.”

“We’d recognize them,” she asserts.

“We’d see them coming,” he agrees.

They watch each other. A colony of pools gargle around them, and a school of infant dragonflies zooms past on organza wings.

In any event, Envy and Sorrow know at least enough about that complex emotion to stop it from happening. And why would they do that? Because when all is said and done, they’re not right for one another.

For a romp session, indeed. However, not in the long term.

And for deities, it’s quite a long term.

“Families are loving for a number of humans,” Envy says. “Not all.”

“They forge different relationships,” Sorrow ponders. “Before I went to the human realm, I had no clue that range of kinships existed, in countless variations and hybrids, with tons of dynamics.”

“More than us. Although they don’t live long, they live a greater spectrum of lives, with a greater spectrum of connections. They have the strength to balance them, enduring in a way that’s…”

“Confusing? Mind-bending? Humbling?”

“All of the above. If you were a human—”

Sorrow snorts. “Jeez, are we playing this game? This is something Merry or Andrew would think up.”

“Bravo to them.” Envy sidles her way. The span of his waist nudges between her thighs as he flattens his hands on the rock, on either side of her hips. “If you were human, what—”

“—sort of family would I have?” Nonchalant, she worms out of his embrace and scoots farther up the boulder. “I admire the human parents who strive while single. That’s a resilience I can’t fathom. And maybe a little brother would be nice.”

“An intimate life.” Envy rests his elbow on the rock, balancing his profile in his palm. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d care for that much intimacy. The smaller the household, the harder it is for you to disappear in it.”

Her brows crinkle. “What makes you think I want to disappear? What makes you think that?”

“Wait. Did I say something wron—”

“Just because I don’t care what people think of me, or just because I’m not big on sleepovers, and just because I keep to myself, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want any connection at all.”

“Hold on. I—”

“It doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of having connections.”

“I never said that.”

She gestures around them. “You’re the one who spent his life retreating here, not me. You’re the one who stashed yourself away, every chance you got. Your words, remember?”

“Hey,” he says, cupping her knee. “I’m sorry.”

Sorrow jerks her leg away. Regardless, her features give a perplexed lurch, her glower bordering on fragile. For a goddess of melancholy, she’s not used to hearing apologies.

Matter of fact, he’s not used to giving them. But for the first time, he minds whether things end on a sour note with her, so he clears his throat. “I’d want a big family, a house full to the brim. The more, the merrier. My parents would be partners who respect each other, and I’d have sisters. Lots of them.”

It takes her a while to reply. “Let me guess,” she mumbles with a grudge. “To play dress-up with.”

“Is there any other reason?”

They chuckle mildly, a simple sound yet not so simple at all. That makes it the loudest sound he’s ever heard.